Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,159

breast with Alexander de Bohun as he set her on her feet in the crunchy, powdery snow.

“Domina, you have given me a memory to keep me warm throughout this journey,” he said with a forced smile as she staggered and clung to him.

Matilda managed to laugh as she straightened up, but the sound seemed to come from far away and someone else because she was still locked into her terror and it was as if a part of her was still hanging against that outer wall in dark mid-air. Hugh and the other knights shinned down the rope in turn, Hugh giving it a tug as he landed. The watchers at the top untied it and cast it down and the escapees knotted themselves together, so that should one fall through the ice, the others could pull him out. It also meant they would not lose each other if the weather worsened. Matilda strove to secure the rope around her waist but her hands were shaking so badly that de Bohun had to do it for her.

They set out with Matilda in the middle, protected from the elements by the men. The moat was the first obstacle and although they all knew it was frozen, still their steps were 394

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tentative, for they were afraid of slipping and instinctively crying out, thus alerting the enemy. Worried too that they might be seen anyway by Stephen’s guards.

Matilda crunched ankle deep in the snow until her boot soles rested on ice. She took a tentative step and then another, her eyes wide with fear and the effort to see in this monochrome world that was absorbing her, her ears straining for a raised alarm. But there was nothing but snow whirling in the wind and darkness. They navigated the moat, shuffled their way off the ice, and began trudging towards the greater stretch of the frozen Thames that lay between themselves and Abingdon. The drifts were knee deep, and without a path to follow, they had to make one of their own. The knights took turns forging a way for the others to follow, lunging like horses on the rope. It was tiring, difficult work, but at least it kept their muscles warm and each step took them further from Oxford and closer to sanctuary.

Matilda felt her scarf grow warm and wet from her exhaled breath as they snaked a route between Stephen’s picket posts.

Her stomach clenched as they passed between two shelters, but there was no sign of any guards. A fox crossed their path, streamlined and swift despite the deep snow, and was gone.

“Further north it would be wolves,” Ralph said cheerfully.

After what seemed like hours of trudging, they arrived at the riverbank. Bits of tree branch were frozen in the water like skeletal hands adorned with icicles. The snow was silvery in places and opaque white in others. Birds had scribbled tracks amid the stiff sedges. Matilda stared out across the white swathe of the river, her breath clouding the air with pale vapour.

“Well,” said Ralph, pointing to the row of paw prints leading into the night. “If the fox came this way, then he must be our portent.” He forayed gingerly on to the ice with de Bohun following, and as the rope paid out and Matilda felt the tug, she had no option but to follow them, terrified that she was going 395

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to hear the creak of strained ice, feel it shatter, and fall through a jagged crack into black, icy water to drown as her brother had done when the White Ship went to her doom. Snow continued to twirl down as they stepped like clumsy dancers across the frozen water, step after step sinking through the powdery surface until the snow compacted underfoot with a soft crumping sound, and each time that happened, she felt another surge of fear.

Then suddenly they were once more amongst frozen sedges and willows and clambering through the tangle on to the opposite bank. Panting, Matilda turned to look over her shoulder.

Their churned tracks were obvious, stretching away to the opposite side, but the way the snow was falling, all signs would be covered by dawn.

“Drink,” said de Bohun, offering her a flask. The wine had been hot when they set out and a residue of warmth remained, enhanced by added pepper and spices. Matilda felt it burn down her gullet. De Bohun produced bread and dripping from a cloth in